Mary Sue (or, The OC from Hell)
by CloudyDream
Summary: Ladies and Gentlemen, there's a new crime fighter in town. She's gorgeous, mysterious, alluring. She's running from a tragic past, trying to redeem the Joker and mending Bruce's broken heart on the way. You think you've heard this before? Well, I guess you probably have. Read on, it might cheer you up! Crack and humor, rated for language and the Joker.


A/N: Wacky writing and random burst of OOCness and/or purple prose come along with the Mary Sue package - gotta be realistic, folks! BTW, apparently some of you can't see the text that's s̶t̶r̶i̶k̶e̶d̶ o̶u̶t̶ with some browsers (such as Chrome). I'm sorry about that - anyone has any pointers? Meanwhile, I'm using Mozilla and it works.

Also, I really hope I didn't screw up the Joker too much, because he's, well, the Joker. Like, the second hardest character to write, EVAH, right after Dante in _Paradiso_, and that's only because Dante wrote about God and angels in _terze rime_ hendecasyllables, or the Joker would be number one.  
After some pondered reflections, I came to the conclusion that the only way to write a good Joker is to get high. Sadly, I really lack the money to spend on weed right now, and I had to settle for _Lucy in the sky _and some _Dark side of the moon_. Next best thing, really.

Don't be a stranger, leave a sign! And, more important, enjoy!

* * *

**Mary Sue (or, the OC from Hell)**

**by Cloudy**

* * *

"_She came like the wind, like the wind touched everything, and like the wind she was gone."_

* * *

**From the journal of John Smith,  
security guard at Gotham City International Airport, National Arrivals Terminal  
August 30th, 2006**

Dear Diary,  
Today I have met an angel.

She came out of Gate Seven, her long blonde hair flowing in the wind. Her skin was creamy and white as pearl, and I couldn't help but imagine how soft her touch might be. She was wearing a long, flowerly dress, of a pale blue that brought out the sapphire-like shine of her beautiful eyes. And she was w̶e̶i̶r̶d̶ ̶a̶s̶ ̶f̶u̶c̶k̶ gorgeous.

As she walked past me like a ray of sunshine, I offered to help her looking for he luggage. She accepted, smiling – and what a beautiful smile she had! – and I somehow ended up carrying her bags outside, and calling for a cab.

When she was about to leave I handed her a fifty – it would have been a shame, to let such a marvelous woman pay for her own cab drive – and I dared ask her name.

"Violetta Von Der Berg," she told me, in a voice suave as the singing of a bird. H̶i̶g̶h̶ ̶s̶c̶h̶o̶o̶l̶ ̶m̶u̶s̶t̶ h̶a̶v̶e̶ s̶u̶c̶k̶e̶d̶ f̶o̶r̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ What a beautiful name!

As the car drove away, I felt my heart break.

In other news, some terrorists snuck in when I was outside, and managed to plant a bomb inside the terminal.  
People died and I got fired.

* * *

**From the computer logs of one Bruce Wayne, also known as Batman,  
masked vigilante and professional risk-taker  
September 2nd, 2006**

Went patrolling.

Out from 2115 hours to 0347 hours.  
Visited Midtown, Old Gotham and the Business Quarter.

a) number two (02) attempted muggins, culprits left for the police at the crime scenes. (See also: Encrypted File #090611; Crime Scenes of September 2006)

b) number one (01) attempted bank robberies, number seven (07) culprits, six (06) apprehended, one (01) escaped. Check GPS tracker first thing tomorrow night to localize hideout. Money completely retrieved. (See also: Encrypted File #090611)

c) number three (01) close encounters with the Gotham City Police Department, Homicide and Major Crime units. Number fifteen (15) policemen involved, no one seriously hurt. Bruised egos.

On the third encounter site, met for the first time Unknown Vigilante Nine; calls herself Night Shadow. R̶i̶d̶i̶c̶u̶l̶o̶u̶s Powerful name.

* * *

**From the very personal and very secret diary of Bruce Wayne,  
driver of fast cars, ****date of movie stars, **buyer of things that aren't for sale.  
(Still) September 2nd, 2006

Deary Diary,  
I am amazed.

I met a girl yesterday night. Another vigilante. A kindred soul.  
She saved my life, Diary, the life I thought I had forsaken – but never before today I have felt so glad to be alive.

I was surrounded by cops and thugs alike, all armed with guns, all ready to kill me. I handled most of them, but there was one I didn't see – one that might have been my demise, had she not intervened. She took him out with a skill and a grace I doubt even I could muster e̶v̶e̶n̶ ̶i̶f̶ ̶I̶ ̶_w̶a̶s̶_ ̶t̶r̶a̶i̶n̶e̶d̶ ̶b̶y̶ ̶_n̶i̶n̶j̶a̶s̶ _and disappeared.

It was clear she did not desire to be followed, running across the night with her long hair shining under the moonlight. She wore red leather and three-inches heels that should make it impossible to fight in made her almost as tall as me. I asked her who she was.

"You may call me, Night Shadow," she told me, her voice sultry, and I shivered. W̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶f̶u̶c̶k̶?̶ I have never heard a name so sexy in my life.  
And then she withdrew into the night.

I dreamed of her. Our encounter yesterday remembered me that I̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶e̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶g̶o̶t̶t̶e̶n̶ ̶l̶a̶i̶d̶ ̶s̶i̶n̶c̶e̶ ̶R̶a̶c̶h̶e̶l̶ ̶f̶r̶i̶e̶n̶d̶z̶o̶n̶e̶d̶ ̶m̶e̶ I still have a heart.

* * *

**From the journal of Black Bobby Chavez,  
corrupted cop, Homicide Squad  
September 3rd, 2006**

Today I have started on the path to redemption.

It started like any other night, with me and my buddies beating a poor orphan for the hell of it, because I'm a corrupted cop and that's what I do.  
Then I saw _her_.

She looked like a flame, a bright, gorgeous flame in high stilettos. H̶o̶w̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶h̶e̶l̶l̶ ̶d̶o̶e̶s̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶w̶a̶l̶k̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶m̶?̶

She saved the little orphan and started fighting against us, hitting me with a kick square in the head that sent me to dreamland for a while.

When I woke up, she was standing above Old Lenny with a knife in her hands, the blade as red as the leather she wore t̶h̶a̶t̶ m̶a̶d̶e̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶a̶s̶s̶ ̶l̶o̶o̶k̶ ̶h̶u̶g̶e I̶ ̶m̶e̶a̶n̶t̶,̶ ̶_p̶e̶r̶f̶e̶c̶t̶_.̶ ̶W̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶a̶ ̶g̶r̶e̶a̶t̶ ̶a̶s̶s̶!̶

"What are you doing?" I told her, horrified that we could have another vigilante-turned-cop-killer on our hands.

"What is necessary," she answered, and I could hear the tears in her voice. "You friend were not only corrupted, but downright mafia, and I had to kill them."

"You didn't have to," I said, scared. "You wanted to!"

She looked at me. "Okay, fair enough. But I have a Freudian excuse, I was raped when I was thirteen!" Her voice broke on the last part, and she started crying. "That made me what I am today!"

Her story was so c̶o̶m̶p̶l̶e̶t̶e̶l̶y̶ ̶r̶a̶n̶d̶o̶m̶ sad that I couldn't help but start crying, too.

"I am so sorry," I told her. "From this day on, I will become a good person, and try to make up for all the wrong I have done."

When I blinked to dissipate my tears, she was gone.

* * *

**From the journal of Rita Sawyer,  
VP of Human Resources, Wayne Enterprises  
September 5th, 2006**

Dear Diary,  
Since last time I wrote here, a very curious thing happened.

Last week, Miss Johnson, a hard-working and invaluable employee, suddenly resigned. Apparently she went to Las Vegas on vacation, married, and moved upstate. It's a great loss, let me tell you! Miss Johnson was Mr. Wayne's personal secretary, even though what he needs a secretary for is anyone's guess, and she managed to both look pretty and professional at her station outside her boss's office.  
So, naturally, we had to replace her.

I started interviewing other ladies I thought suitable for the job, woman who have worked here for enough time to be considered loyal employees. I selected three young, smart ladies, each one in posses of a MBA, each more beautiful than the other, and sent the list to Mr. Wayne so that he could decide – as soon as he bothered _reading_ his emails, that's it.

But today I realized a new secretary had been chosen, and it was a woman I had never laid eyes on before in my entire life.

Miss Violetta Azrel is a serious, down-to-Earth, young girl, who wears her blonde hair in a high ponytail and buttoned-up blouses, and looks l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶a̶ ̶n̶u̶n̶ b̶o̶r̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶a̶s̶ ̶f̶u̶c̶k̶ absolutely delightful.  
She got the job after a talk with Mr. Fox w̶h̶o̶s̶e̶ ̶j̶o̶b̶ ̶h̶a̶s̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶d̶o̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶i̶n̶t̶e̶r̶v̶i̶e̶w̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶a̶p̶p̶l̶i̶c̶a̶n̶t̶s̶ and after Mr. Wayne dropped by during the interview and was conquered by her charm n̶o̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶m̶e̶n̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶u̶t̶t̶e̶r̶ ̶l̶a̶c̶k̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶a̶n̶y̶ ̶q̶u̶a̶l̶i̶f̶i̶c̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ ̶w̶h̶a̶t̶s̶o̶e̶v̶e̶r̶.

She started four days ago, and I got to know her a little since then. She lives in an apartment in the Narrows because she's s̶u̶i̶c̶i̶d̶a̶l̶ saving money, hates Gotham even if she moved here, and doesn't like to wear elaborate dresses or make up.

Still, she's amazingly fun, intelligent and beautiful, the perfect girl. I hate her because every time Mr. Wayne comes in, he smiles at her like she were the most beautiful thing on the face of the Earth.

Lucky bitch.

* * *

**From the very personal and very secret diary of Bruce Wayne,  
tall, dark and handsome.  
September 6th, 2006**

Dear Diary,  
I have a new secretary at the office.

R̶e̶r̶e̶a̶d̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶w̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶r̶o̶t̶e̶,̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶s̶o̶u̶n̶d̶ ̶s̶t̶r̶a̶n̶g̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶m̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶I̶ ̶s̶h̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶c̶a̶r̶e̶.̶ ̶B̶e̶s̶i̶d̶e̶s̶,̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶a̶c̶t̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶t̶i̶m̶e̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶d̶o̶e̶s̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶a̶r̶o̶u̶n̶d̶ ̶m̶e̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶d̶r̶e̶s̶s̶e̶s̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶a̶ ̶n̶u̶n̶..

She's pretty, fun and smart and not at all high maintenance. I like her. W̶h̶y̶?̶

I asked her a lot of questions about her life, but she didn't answered most of the time, acting as though she dislikes me. This made me like her even more. She's different from all the others. W̶h̶y̶?

In other news, WE took over Nerton, Inc., Tyler was appointed to the board and I almost got killed yesterday night, but it doesn't really matter. There are more important things to care about.

Like, I think I'm falling for my secretary. Rachel who?

What's happening to me?

* * *

**From the very personal and very private journal of inmate #5893, better known as the Joker  
bringer of destruction, agent of chaos, first-time resident of Arkham Asylum.  
September 6th, 2006**

Arkham is a nuthouse, they say. They don't know shit

_Ah!_ Nuthouse. What do they know, those petty little people in their petty little lives, all so similar and soooo boring. Petty people, I like that. **Pe**tty **pe**ople. Petty lives. _That's_ the real asylum, the **b**ig, **b**oring, **b**alanced _word_.

The real crazies stay THE FUCK OUT of Arkam.

So WHAT THE HELL is one of them doing **in here**?

She came in, blonde hair and a white coat, so **pr**istine and **p**u**r**e and **pr**im and **pr**oper and says, she's here to help, in that **si**ckly **s**w**ee**t voice. She's here TO HELP!

And not just **that**, OH NO! She says, I'm here to help you, _Jack_. Da fuck is Jack? That's Jo**ker**, not Ja**ck.**

_The lunatic is in the hall  
the lunatics are in the hall_

Jack's a _whole different card_, thankyouverymuch, higher than a ten and less than a Queen. Who'd wanna be _less_ than a fucking Queen? Queeeeeen, ah, Queeeeen. Harley. Who'd wanna be less than **s**tupid **s**weet _Harley_? And at least she's fun to be around, Jay, she says. That's a **whole** lotta better than stupid _Jack_.  
_Jack__**ass**_.

I said, ya know how I **got** these scars? And she was all like, yes Jack, that was after your pregnant wife died. DA. FUCKIN. FUCK.  
Who's ever been married?

_Dumb _**b**londe **b**itch.

And _that's_ saying something when you know Harley.

* * *

**From the very personal and very secret diary of Bruce Wayne,  
bored socialite, part-time entrepreneur, Academy worthy performer.  
September 7th, 2006**

Really, Diary.  
W̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶f̶u̶c̶k̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶w̶r̶o̶n̶g̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶m̶e̶?  
It's the happiest day of my life.

I went to a party yesterday, like I do too many days of the week. And she was there.

Gorgeous, blue-eyes and wearing an amazing gray velvet dress. My whole word stopped for a moment when I saw her.

Then someone introduced us – old Trap Von Der Berg, a rich industrialist who just moved here from the West Coast.

"This is my beautiful daughter, Violetta Von Der Berg," he told me. She smiled politely and disappeared, going out on the balcony. I ran after her.

"What's your problem with me?" I told her, and she snorted.

"You're an arrogant playboy and my father only want us to date for your money!"

"But you don't even know me!"  
I w̶a̶n̶t̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶l̶e̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ felt my heart cringe at the thoughts that this marvelous creature didn't return my feelings. I looked into her deep blue eyes, and something clicked.

"You are my secretary! How is this possible?" I was astonished, and somehow relieved – now I didn't have to choose between the two beautiful women I'd fallen for. S̶h̶e̶ ̶d̶i̶d̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶l̶o̶o̶k̶ ̶a̶t̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶a̶ ̶n̶u̶n̶,̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶l̶o̶o̶k̶e̶d̶ ̶s̶l̶u̶t̶t̶y̶ She looked amazing.

"I don't like being filthy rich and stupid and I wanted to make a life for myself!" She said, and I admired her even more for her courage and independence.

"Violetta," I asked her, looking into her beautiful baby blues. "Would you like to go out with me? We can keep it secret from your father."

She told me she'll think about it!

I must be the luckiest person on Earth.

* * *

**From the very personal and very private journal of inmate #5893, better known as the Joker  
animal lover, fashionista, future escape artist.  
September 9th, 2006,  
1432 hours**

Violette, her name is. **Vi**brant, **vi**vacious **Vi**olette.  
**V**erbose **V**iolette, but I love her all the same.

Love, such a **b**eautiful, **b**rilliant word. I have never known love, or maybe I have, once upon a time, before my beloved, pregnant wife died, but it was nothing like this.

_Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes  
And she's gone_

S**wee**t **Vi**olette.

I'll get you out, Jack, she says. Such a lovely word, coming from her mouth. Jaaaack. **L**ovely **l**ittle **l**anguid word. **L**_ooooo_py **l**ove. Loopy, that's _lovely_.

She'll get me out and I'll get plastic surgery to heal my scars and we'll live **happily **evah after.

* * *

**From the very personal and very private journal of inmate #5893, better known as the Joker  
amateur chemist, trickster, freelance psychologist  
(Still) September 9th, 2006,  
1728 hours**

WHAT **THE FUCK** DID I JUST WRITE?

She musta drugged me, the **b**loody **b**londe **b**itch. And **b**loody's **B**ritish, but I don't really give a damn right know. She'll _heal _me, she said.

I don't wanna **B**E healed.  
Don't wanna **B**Ecome like the lotta them, **B**ORING.

Arkham Asylum's a haven from all the craziness outside. Bad _boring_ craziness, not good craziness.

**C**razy **c**ryptic **c**raziness, five to nine and brunch on Sundays.

Someone get me AWAY from her, **NOW**!

* * *

**From the journal of Alfred Pennyworth,  
coffee brewer, occasional arsonist, all around awesome bloke.  
September 10th, 2006. **

I fear something is amiss with Master Wayne.

He wouldn't tell me what it is – of course, he never does – but the signs are all here. He is weary, nervous and almost feverish, with the obsessed look in the eyes he gets whenever he sets himself to solve a seemingly impossible task.

Perhaps it could be an aftereffect of young Miss Rachel's death, the realization sinking in only now. Perhaps he figured out Miss Rachel's real feelings, or found out that she was going to marry Dent when she died. Had I not burned that letter, I would have though he found it.

The Joker is still in Arkham, after all, and I can't imagine any other possible reason for these abrupt mood swings. after all, Master Bruce is neither a teenager nor a woman, and usually controls his feelings with an almost inhuman control.

Now that I think about it, I might have heard him mutter a woman's name – but, thinking about it, the idea is utter ridiculous. The young Master has never showed any real interest in a woman before – except for Miss Rachel, of course – finding them either interested in his money and name or too naïve.

For all that I wish him to be finally, truly happy, I know him well enough to know that a romantic relationship is not something he would pursue right now.  
So, once again, what is the problem?

I will find out.

* * *

**From the very personal and very private journal of inmate #5893, better known as the Joker  
make-up entusiast, _not_ a freak, prefers his answers to be multiple choice.  
September 11th, 2006**

She's back.

Where's Batsy when you need him?  
She's **back** and she don't _wanna help_ this time, nossir. She's **crying**.  
Cryin, like I'd give a damn.

I really don't, but she's **scary**.

I love you Jack, **s**he **s**ays, then **s**he **s**tutters. Joker, she says this time, and it's just **plain fucking SCARY**. I wanna be like ya, Jack, she goes **on** and **on** and **on**. I'm _broken_ and _wounded _as you are, I **wanna **be like ya.

Broken and wounded, **hilarious**!  
That goes to explain she's even dumber than she looks, the **b**loody **b**londe **b**itch.

I'm back to being myself again, kind of. **Guess so**. **Whoever **myself _is_.

_Climb in the back with your head in the clouds  
And you're gone..._

I feel like I'm REBORN, like that time Sissy slicked my cheeks open.  
Or was it old Tommy De Kluz? Nutty Nick? Freddy?  
Whatever, **who cares!**

Who caaaaares? **C**ryptic and **c**reative, who **c**aaaaaares?

Harley came in for our session then, and kicked the bitch out. AND I LAUGHED!  
When I'm leaving this comfy old place, I'm talking her with me. Gotta freeeee her, away from the trap of **in**sanity. **Harley**, not the **bitch**. I won't leave till the bitch IS **GONE**.

In other news, five years this day someone blew up a building.  
Harley thinks it's sad, the idiot.  
She doesn't **get** the fun of it.

Explosions are HILARIOUS!

Hi … Histrionic? **His**trionic and **hi**larious.

HI – LAAA – REEE – UUUSSSS

* * *

**From the very personal and very secret diary of Bruce Wayne,  
billionaire, hunk, college dropout.  
September 13th, 2006**

Dear Diary,  
Today's been the best day of my life.

She said _yes_.

We went on a date yesterday, she finally said, yes I'll go with you b̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ J̶a̶c̶k̶ d̶u̶d̶e̶ ̶b̶a̶i̶l̶e̶d̶ ̶o̶u̶t̶, and I said, sure, let's go now, and we went out. She's smart and beautiful and funny and charming and I'm in love with her.

She was wearing a long, sleeveless red Valentino dress, golden Jimmy Choo heels and a matching Armani purse. Now, I know I am a dude and I shouldn't be able to recognize those brands, but she told me so many times I'll never forget.

Anyway, twenty minutes into the date I love her so much, I want to teach her how to fight so she can defend herself and I won't lose her never ever ever. We talked and made out and then had really hot sex in my car and we were so happy our hearts were about to burst.

Then some thugs attacked my car and to kill us, but Violette took them all out without breaking a sweat before I could do anything. That was the moment when I realized the truth.

"Y̶o̶u̶'̶r̶e̶ Your Night Shadow!" I said, completely overwhelmed. That was so hot, I wanted to have sex again, but she started crying.

"I am," she said, "because my mom died when I was a kid after my dad made a deal with the mob, so I ran away and lived on the streets for a year!"

I was about to cry, too, the story was so sad n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶m̶i̶n̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶I̶'̶v̶e̶ ̶l̶i̶v̶e̶d̶ ̶o̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶t̶r̶e̶e̶t̶s̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶s̶e̶v̶e̶n̶ ̶y̶e̶a̶r̶s̶.  
"And then what happened, baby?" I asked her.

"Then I was raped and abused every day for the whole year, until I snapped and killed all those guys and went back home to learn how to fight!"

That was so heartbreaking, but there was a detail I could not ignore. "Killing is wrong!" I told her.

"I know that," she said, her voice low and sad. "But I am damaged and scarred and abused, but I wanna make things good now! I even wanted heal the Joker, but we fought!"

She was so beautiful under the light of the moon.

"Violetta," I told her, my heart beating like crazy. "Will you marry me?"

"Oh, _yes_!" She said, and we made love again.

Then I drove her back home because she needed to pack so she can move in with me tomorrow.

"By the way," she said, when I was kissing her goodnight. "I'm pregnant!"

I was amazed. "How so, baby? We only had sex, like, two hours ago!"

She laughed, her teeth white as pearl under the moonlight. "But I know so, baby, it's the power of love! And it's a fanfic! Don't like, don't read!"

She was right. She always is.

TO THE IDIOT WHO'S BEEN READING MY DIARY, WHOEVER U ARE: I will kill you but, meanwhile, look at the wonderful things my love wore.  
Dress: (slash)valentino_ribbed_stretch-crepe_dress(slash)thing?id=72882146  
Shoes: (slash)cgi(slash)shop?thing_details=1&tid=72865885&.locale=it  
Bag: (slash)california-wholesale/332/giorgio-armani/ygw716-yc660-bag-gold-silver  
JUST SO U KNOW, U FILTHY DEGENERATE

* * *

**From the journal of Alfred Pennyworth,  
butler extraordinaire, former RAF pilot, most resourceful man on planet Earth.  
September 14th, 2006**

The issue has been identified, and the menace has been taken care of.

It appears that the problem affecting Master Wayne was nothing else than a supernatural being from another dimension, better known as the Mary Sue, whose only mission in life is to completely take over every part of the situation she finds herself in, using tricks such as:

a) instantaneous knowledge of martial arts  
b) she cleans up very well  
c) sad backstory, tragic past  
d) rich in money, poor in love

However, the entity has a (possibly fatal) flaw, the belief that any man can be brought under her spell. Using my supreme willpower and unconditioned love for the man I raised since he was a child, I was able to defeat the Entity in a fearsome battle.  
Her last words before dying were, _It wasn't supposed to be like this!_

As I already did once with a problem concerning Master Wayne's romantic status, I burned the evidence, _because sometimes the truth isn't good enough_.

After his beloved seemingly disappeared, Master Bruce seems very sad, but he hasn't gone out looking for revenge, as the effects of the Entity's powers are already wearing off.  
He's back to his usual, broody self. Thanks God.

In other news, the Joker escaped from Arkham Asylum, taking his psychologist with him.  
He was reportedly heard laughing and saying, _The bitch IS __**GONE**__!_

* * *

A/N: Yeah, those links actually work. It took forever to find 'em, I really underestimated the time and effort Mary Sue writers put in researching the latest cool Valentino collection for their characters. Impressive.

I hope you enjoyed this, and that the Joker wasn't too awful. Drop me a line, will ya? It's the first time I write anything like this, and I'd really like to know how I did. Peace&Love.

* * *

Edit: I finally got my first "you suck" review to this! My dear anonymus friend, I don't quite get the point you're trying to make, except that Stephenie Meyer is rich and I'm not and that I should stop complaining about stuff I don't like because I can just stop reading it. That's nice. I'll refrain to say that the same thing should apply to you, and just have a laugh._  
_


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